


This Common Pleasure

by ultramarcypan



Series: The Prince and His Lionheart [1]
Category: Yu-Gi-Oh! ARC-V
Genre: M/M, Prince and Knight AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-06
Updated: 2017-03-06
Packaged: 2018-09-28 14:55:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10121876
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ultramarcypan/pseuds/ultramarcypan
Summary: “I have all the faith in you,” the stranger says casually, pressing the pendant into Shingo’s hand.  “But,” he continues on, wrapping his hands around Shingo’s own, forcing his fingers to curl around the necklace, “A little luck never hurt anyone, now did it?”





	

**Author's Note:**

> I take pride in being known as the Yugioh friend in all my circles of friends and even MORE pride when I drag someone down to my level. [ haloud ](http://haloud.tumblr.com/%20) is my latest victim and while we were watching Arc-V I started yelling about Dartshipping and pointed out how Shingo starts wearing a necklace after dueling Yuya and. Well. haloud observed that it was like something a Prince would do for a Knight and now there are 3000 words based around that idea.

There’s always a strange feeling in the air, the day of a tournament, one that travels from person to person as the people of the town pass by one another.  The shops are open, but it’s more out of formality and routine than anything else; no one is interested in shopping or working when there are bright tents being set up in the town square.

Shingo revels in the feeling, using it as a fuel to prep him for the tournament; he isn’t good at sitting still on a good day and the excitement that bleeds into him on these days only exacerbates his fidgeting.  To clear his mind (and to give him something to do) he takes to wandering around the town idly, keeping mainly to the outskirts in his exploration.  Everyone he walks by points and whispers as he passes, and every whisper makes him puff his chest out just a little bit further.  The armor that he wears, a polished silver with a rose carved into the breastplate, glints in the early morning sunlight and clinks with every move he makes.

It’s been several years since Shingo had taken the vows of knighthood, several years of serving the crown and the people.  His family name carries weight in the country; his father is one of the most influential members of court.  Being a knight, a sworn protector of the realm--one who attracts attention everywhere he goes--suits him.  He likes being able to bear his family’s crest, he likes the looks of admiration he gets, he likes everything about his life.

A knight he may be, but no one ever accused Shingo Sawatari of being modest.

Squinting up at the sun, Shingo guesses he has maybe another hour or so before he’s due back to the square to begin preparing for the tournament.  He’s so busy staring up that he fails to notice what’s in front of him, or rather, who.

He bumps into a very solid person, sending both of them sprawling to the ground.  Shingo lands hard on his rear, a heap of armour and long limbs.  He hears the person he’s bumped into shifting just a little ways from him and immediately springs to his feet.

“My deepest apologies!”  He says, even though that’s about as far from the truth as could be.  People should watch where they’re going, especially with such an honored  _ knight  _ in their path.  “I hope I haven’t hurt you.”  Much, anyhow.  A few bruises might knock some good sense into this fool.

“I’m alright,” the person says, accepting the hand that Shingo is so graciously offering them.  With a small tug, Shingo hefts them back onto their feet and takes a moment to really look at the one who’d dared bump into him.

Before him stands a man, one who may be just a few years younger than Shingo himself, if that.  His hair is a brilliant red color, one that catches in the sun and shines with every small shift he makes; streaked through it are green strands that Shingo isn’t sure if they’re ribbons woven through his hair or specific sections that the other has dyed and then woven in with the rest of his hair.  “Thank you,” the stranger says, and Shingo has to force himself to pay attention to his present situation instead of just examining the other.  It takes him a long moment to realize what he’s being thanked for.

“Not at all!” He says, puffing his chest back out.  “T’was my duty as a knight to help those in need.”  The stranger lets out a tiny huff of laughter, one that makes Shingo’s skin prickle and the hairs on the nape of his neck stand up.

“Especially when you run into them.”  Shingo can’t help himself--his eye twitches in irritation.  The stranger laughs again, louder this time, and his mirth makes the skin around his eyes crinkle a little bit. Shingo takes a second, just one, to note that the other’s eyes are dark brown and shine just as brightly as his hair does.  “It’s alright, Sir Knight,” the other tells him with a wink.  “I won’t tell anyone that you practically mowed over a civilian.”

Shingo forgets all his training in an instant.  He’s always been too emotional, if his family is to be believed.  “I’m not the one who wasn’t looking where I was going!”

The stranger raises an eyebrow at him.  It’s perfectly styled and the same brilliant red as the rest of his hair.  “Oh, really?  Because I’m pretty sure looking up at the sky constitutes as ‘not looking where one is going.’”

Shingo’s face turns red.  “And just who are you?”  He demands.  His question earns him a smile and a shrug.

“I’m someone who’s in town for the tournament,” says the other, which really doesn’t answer his question at all, but before Shingo can protest he continues speaking.  “And I’m going to guess, Sir Knight, that you’re also in town for the tournament.”  Shingo doesn’t miss the way the other’s eyes trail over his family crest; he holds his ground stubbornly, meeting the other’s face without an ounce of shame.

“I am,” he says grandly, tossing his head back.  He’s preparing to launch into his usual speech about his family’s noble lineage when the stranger cuts him off  _ again _ .  He doesn’t know if he should admire the other’s bluntness or be irritated by his rudeness.

“And, Sir Knight,” the other says, a smile twisting his lips--one that does funny things to Shingo’s pulse, “Do you plan to win this tournament?”

Shingo bristles at the question.  “I did not come to lose,” he says tartly.  For some reason, this makes the other laugh again, even louder than before.

“Well then,” he says, brushing strands of hair out of his face.  “I’m eager to see you compete.”  His hands come up to the back of his neck and he fiddles with something; when he pulls away, Shingo sees that he’s unclasped a necklace, which he holds out in his palm.  It’s a strange blue crystal, one that Shingo has never seen before in his life that has no flaws and is perfectly cut.  It’s maybe the size of his thumb, and there’s thin silver strips that wrap around it intricately, all connected to a chain made out of what looks to be pure silver.  Shingo’s no jeweler, but he’s willing to bet a good bit that the necklace is worth a small fortune in and of itself.

His other hand comes out to tug at Shingo’s hand, and he lets the stranger take it without a fuss.

“I have all the faith in you,” the stranger says casually, pressing the pendant into Shingo’s hand.  “But,” he continues on, wrapping his hands around Shingo’s own, forcing his fingers to curl around the necklace, “A little luck never hurt anyone, now did it?”  The other’s skin is soft against his own calloused hand, and his touch is gentle. 

“I couldn’t,” he begins lamely, even though he desperately wants to hold on to the necklace; it would give him another reason to talk with this strange (and pretty, his brain adds, very, very pretty) man.  

“You can,” the other tells him, a hint of authority creeping into his tone.  “And you will.”  There’s something about his voice, something about his appearance that sets off warning bells in Shingo’s head; he should know this person, has meet him somewhere before but can't’ remember for the life of him right now.  “Consider it a token for the tournament.”  The hands around Shingo’s own squeeze lightly and he flushes again, though not out of anger this time.  Then the soft heat around his fist is gone and the other is stepping back, dancing away on nimble feet down the street.  “Good luck in the tournament, Sir Sawatari!”

“Uh--” Words fail Shingo and he flounders for a proper response.  “Thank you!”  Is all that he can manage, and the retreating form gives him a brilliant smile and a wave before blending in with the crowd.  Shingo takes that as his own sign to get back to the pavilion and start prepping for the tournament.

It doesn’t occur to him that the stranger never asked him for his name.

*

Shingo’s horse has the patience of a saint to put up with his boisterous nature and grand motions without flinching.  He figures it has something to do with their bond; he’d gotten the horse as a foal when he was a young boy and he’d raised it and trained it himself.  The reward for his efforts now supports him, letting him sit on its back in full arm without any complaint, head held just as high as his masters is.  Absentmindedly, Shingo strokes his fingers through his mount’s mane, double checking to make sure there aren’t any hidden tangles in the fine hair.

His other hand closes around the necklace the stranger had given him, almost subconsciously.  He’s never been one to refuse a favor from the crowd on a tournament day, nor has he ever turned down a token of luck.  Granted, he’s never been given a token of luck quite like this one before.

He scans the crowd in an attempt to quell his nerves--and maybe he’s also looking for the man from before.  His eyes pass from person to person, hoping to catch a hint of brilliant red, but nothing in the crowd matches the vibrancy of the stranger's hair.  Shingo frowns to himself; what’s the point of wishing someone luck in a tournament and then not showing up to watch them?

Fanfare sounds from behind them, and Shingo turns his horse around to see what all the commotion is about--and then almost promptly falls off of his horse.  His horse makes an irritated sound at him as he rights himself, its ears flicking back in distaste.  Around him, his fellow knights snicker and roll their eyes, but Shingo’s a little too preoccupied with righting himself to pay them much mind, brain whirring as he processes the new turn of events.

The royal family has just entered the square.

It’s not unheard of for them to come and watch tournaments; in fact, the Sakaki family is well known for being close to the people of their realm and their love of all sports and entertainment.

Still, Shingo really thought he would’ve been able to recognize the crown Prince when he saw him.   _ Especially  _ if he ran headlong into the young lord.  Yuya Sakaki stand in between his parents, smiling and waving at the crowd.  His eyes come to rest on Shingo and his smile widens just a fraction; his eyes crinkle again in joy and Shingo has to fight to keep his own heartbeat steady.  The Prince tilts his head and then he points to his own neck, a small motion so as not to attract attention.

Shingo almost yanks the pendant the Prince had given him off of his neck in embarrassment.   Yuya laughs, Shingo can tell even from this distance, and his mother turns to look at him.  He waves the Queen off, slipping his hand into his mother’s and escorting her up to the viewing platform.

“Welcome, all!”  The King’s voice splits the air and Shingo starts; he’d been so focused on the Prince that he hadn’t noticed his lord moving to the front of the platform.  “What a glorious day for a tournament!”  The crowd roars its agreement and for a split second Shingo is back on familiar ground.  Then, he catches sight of Prince Yuya again, who gives him a coy wink, and his world flips again.  “And how fine all of our Knights look!”

The crowd cheers again, and Shingo lets himself be swept up in the rush of it all.  His horse paws the ground beneath him, snorting, and just like that, the tournament begins.

*

Shingo wins.

It’s not like he ever  _ doubted  _ in his skills--well, maybe a little bit.  Maybe a lot.

He’s never ridden like he has on this day, never fought like this before in all of his life.  And with every motion he makes, every blow he dodges, the Prince’s pendant clinks against his breastplate.

Maybe there’s more to luck than even Shingo had ever imagined.

His fingers come up yet again to play with the pendant hanging around his neck, running his fingers along the smooth surface of the stone, and he’s acutely aware of the eyes of the young Prince on him.  With a soft click of his tongue, his horse trots to stand before the royal’s platform, leaving him staring up at the monarchs of his kingdom.

The King is smiling down at him and Shingo is struck by how similar his son’s smile is to his own; the Sakaki family has an air about them themselves, one that makes the majority of their kingdom love them more with every wave and laugh they emit.  “Sir Sawatari,” the King greets him cheerfully, and Shigo bows his head.

“Your Majesty,” he says, and the King laughs.

“What fine sportsmanship!”  King Sakaki says.  Shingo risks looking up; his King doesn’t seem to be offended that he’s unbent himself, so Shingo sits up entirely.

“Thank you, milord.”  He says, and doesn’t bother to hide the note of pride in his voice.  To the victor go the spoils, he thinks vindictively.

The king seems to agree with him.  “Such fine showmanship deserves a reward, I think.  What say the people?”  He asks, gesturing to the crowd.  Around them, the people burst into shouts of affirmation and Shingo's already sizable ego swells just a bit further.  “That settles it then!” He decrees, before turning back to Shingo.  “Well then, Sir Sawatari--what wish may the crown grant for you?”

Shingo hesitates.  It would be easy to ask for money or land, and Shingo is sorely tempted to do so.  His family isn’t one for turning down power and prestige in any form, though for once, Shingo is unsure if something of monetary value is what he wants.  

It’s instinct that drives him to say what he does next, instinct or the necklace that clinks again against his armour as he shifts on his horse.  “I ask that I be allowed to serve Prince Yuya!”  He calls out.  He takes pleasure in the fact that his voice doesn’t betray any of the apprehension he feels roiling in him.  Winning a tournament is far easier than making a demand of his King.  Around him, the crowd whispers, taken aback by his request.

King Sakaki stares down at him, and Shingo is sure he doesn’t imagine the way the his lord's eyes catch on the pendant dangling from his neck and briefly he panics at the realization that he’s wearing a royal jewel on such blatant display.  Still, he doesn’t flinch, nor does he give into the temptation to look just beyond King Sakaki’s shoulder to where he knows the Crown Prince to be standing.  “You think yourself worthy to protect my son?”

There’s no hesitation when Shingo answers this time.  “I do.”

For a heartbeat, there’s total silence as Shingo stares at the King, his heart caught in his throat.  It breaks when Prince Yuya steps forward, resting his hand lightly on his father’s arm.  The King glances down at his son and an unspoken understanding passes between them.  Yuya is the one to step forward, smiling broadly down at Shingo.

“I would be honored,” he begins, “To have such a brave and skilled Knight serving me.”  A pause, followed by, “Especially one who is so  _ aware  _ of his surroundings.”  Yuya’s eyes are sparkling as Shingo narrows his own at the subtle dig.  “I ask that you grant him his wish father.”

“Well then,” King Sakaki says slowly, looking back and forth between the two of them.  “Who am I to question my son’s judgement?”  He faces Shingo fully, drawing himself up and splaying his arms out.  “From here on Sir Sawatari, you shall serve as a Royal Guard to the Crown Prince.”

The screams from the crowd are deafening and Shingo’s thanks is drowned out by all the noise.  A sea of bodies engulfs him, everyone desperate to congratulate the newest member of the Royal Guard or to shake his hand.  It takes him a while, but eventually Shingo escapes the mass of people, making his way over to where he’d last seen the carriages the Royal family had arrived in.

Yuya is waiting for him when he gets there.  Shingo stops a few feet away from him, suddenly much less sure, and Yuya grins at him.  “Are you sure you don’t want to walk into me this time?”

“I did NOT--” Shingo begins hotly, and then clamps his mouth shut.  Even he’s smart enough to know that mouthing off to the Crown Prince isn’t a good idea.  However, Yuya rolls his eyes and steps closer to Shingo, brushing his fingers against the pendant.

“You can’t be such a dreadful bore if you’re going to be guarding me,” he tells Shingo.  “I’ll go mad if I have to watch you struggle to remember your manners every time I tease you.”

“My manners are  _ fine!”  _ Shingo snaps, all reservations forgotten.  Yuya’s smile widens.

“Of course they are.” He concedes.  “As fine as your eyes work when you’re walking around with your head in the clouds.”  Shingo groans, wondering if it’s too late to change his mind about his reward.  He brings a hand up to rub against the back of his neck and his fingers graze the chain of the necklace he’s been wearing all afternoon.

“Oh,” he says intelligently.  “Your necklace.”  He moves to unclasp the chain only for Yuya to latch onto his wrist, stopping his movement.

“Keep it,” the Prince says.  Shingo blinks at him.

“This necklace is a royal treasure.” He points out, as if Yuya wasn’t aware of that particular fact.  The Prince nods at him.

“Yes, and?”

“It’s inappropriate for someone like to me to be wearing it!”

Yuya fixes him with a look and when he speaks again it’s with the same authority as when he first demanded that Shingo take the pendant.  “It’s my necklace,” he says.  “What I do with it is my choosing.”  Yuya pulls Shingo’s hand back down, taking it in his own for the second time that day.  “Keep it,” he repeats.  “Keep it and wear it proudly.” 

“As a good luck token?” Shingo asks, before he can stop himself.

For the first time, Yuya blushes; his whole face turns a bright pink color and Shingo is mesmerized by it.  “Or a token of affection.”  The prince gives his hand a quick squeeze before dashing towards the carriage, leaping up the stairs in a single bound.  Shingo, left reeling at his declaration, doesn’t have the foresight to stop him.  A shout behind him lets him know that the Royal family is packing up, making the necessary preparations to head back to the castle and that he’s expected to join them and help out.

The realization is a heady one, one that sends pleasure coursing throughout every inch of his body.  He gives himself a shake and takes one step forward before pausing. 

Shingo reaches up and tucks Yuya’s pendant, his ‘token of affection’ safely into his shirt so that it’s hidden from prying eyes before he heads off to help with packing up.  Only he and the Prince need to know that it rests around his neck.


End file.
